Albrecht Dürer 1471-1528
I rolled from him then, disgusted that I had spread my legs around him even if only to kill him, then carried myself to the nearest stool where I sat staring at naught, mourning a life I ne'er had. I cradled the bread knife as a babe and refused to allow myself any tears.
'Twas how they found us, the Sheriff and his man, early the following morn; the Alderman still flat on his back in shite soggy breeches, a placid chicken perched delicately atop his noggin, mayhap in hopes of hatching into worth the obscene egg that had taken o'er his forehead. Myself, rocking a blade and singing it a sweet
lullaby.
In sooth, 'twas the lullaby I believe, what saved me sorry neck.
The Sheriff, as balanced and just-minded a man as one in his position is allowed to be, knew not what to make of the scene, nor, whence it should come to it, know where to set his gaze in the coming hours for want of an acceptable explanation as to exactly how it was he foretold the whereabouts of Master Terwilliger with such prophetic accuracy. But it was clear that no matter the circumstance the fault would be mine own, with Ian Terwilliger emerging as the victor-if one can be said to be victorious with a load of shite in ones breeches and the guilt of lechery upon ones soul.
As for the rest? Well, the phrase mere formality does spring to mind. I would not hold the taste of freedom upon my tongue nor know the giddiness of a brilliant summer day for much time hence. And though I would become intimately acquainted with the bite of frigid cold, sick hunger, rats and raving madness,what came to me from it I would ne'er sell nor trade even to wipe my slate clean nor to have lived a different life. Tainted though it may sound, I owe Ian Terwilliger my gratitude, if not my debt.
end chapter i
